Royally Crushed: A Crazy Royal Love, Book 1

by Summers, Melanie

  “That's not what I meant and you know it.” My voice is shaking now.

  He stares at me for a moment, his eyes softening a little. “Just drink some water and lay down. You’re too weak for any of this.”

  “Will, please. I can't let it end this way. I have to try.”

  “You did, Arabella. I know you tried, but it takes a certain kind of person to do what I do,” he says, his voice growing calm now. “It's actually all my fault. I should've refused to take you out here. I knew better.”

  I curl my knees up into my chest and rest my head on them, feeling a wave of wooziness come over me. His attempt to let me off the hook hurts worse than his anger. He’s exactly like everyone else. He has absolutely no faith in me. But I can prove him wrong. I know I can.

  He taps me on the shoulder. “Here, have some of this water.”

  I take the bottle without saying anything and have a sip, feeling the refreshing, cool liquid slide across my tongue. The taste of it makes me long for more, but I know I need to pace myself. “How much farther until town?”

  “Hard to say. My best guess is about two hours maybe.”

  I nod slightly and take another sip of water. I've got two more hours to get my strength back. Because there is no way in hell I’m going to go out like this. After everything I've been through and managed to do out here, I will not return home as a weak, pathetic, pampered princess.

  * * *

  ABN Morning Newscast with Veronica Platt

  “Welcome to Avonia This Morning. I’m Veronica Platt. Restaurantgoers capture secret footage of Princess Arabella's bodyguard without his charge.” Veronica stares intently into the camera. “It’s been nine days since Princess Arabella’s disappearance, and citizens around Valcourt have started to follow her bodyguard, simply known as Bellford, hoping for clues as to her whereabouts.”

  The screen fills with shaky footage of a man dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie pushing a shopping trolley in the frozen foods section of a grocery store. “Giles Bigly joins us live in studio to discuss the new developments in this mysterious story.”

  “Yes, Veronica,” Giles says, smiling. “Our Hot Tips Desk has been flooded with footage of Princess Arabella's long-serving security officer, who appears to be taking a few days off. Here, we see him buying groceries, and in the next video, we see him sipping what looks like Guinness at The Frog ‘n Keg Pub.”

  “Shocking, really,” Veronica says as the video ends and a shot of her sitting at the desk next to Giles fills the screen. Giles seems to have lost interest in the news story and is bouncing in his chair as though testing it out.

  “Shocking, isn't it, Giles?” She asks in an urgent tone. “Why would she be without her head security officer for so many days?”

  “It's hard to say, Veronica. Perhaps she's caught a cold. Perhaps she's taking a few days off and doesn't need to have extra security if she's just staying home. Or maybe he’s on vacation.”

  “Perhaps, Giles, but there appears to be more to the story than meets the eye. Have you heard anything from palace insiders that could shed some light on her disappearance?”

  “Nothing, Veronica,” Giles says, rubbing his open palms on the news desk.

  Veronica watches his hand with a slightly disgusted look on her face. “What about the fact that a staffer who asked not to be named has apparently told a reporter at Weekly World News that something strange is definitely going on, but as to what he or she could not say?”

  “Well, Veronica, as you and I both know, the Weekly World News isn't exactly known for their journalistic integrity.”

  “They were right about that man who had a baby, Giles.”

  “That they were, Veronica. But very few stories since.”

  Turning back to the camera, Veronica says, “Coming up next, fashion critic Nigel Woods is here to do our quarterly update on Princess Tessa’s post-baby-body weight loss, and according to him, things are not exactly improving for the consort to our future King.”

  Veronica looks at Giles, clearly hoping for him to join her in looking scandalized, but instead, Giles says, “The poor woman had twins, can we just leave it alone, already?”

  The feed cuts and a commercial for AnuFix hemorrhoid cream starts up.

  26

  Never Break Up with a Woman While on a Long Raft Trip

  Will

  Do you know what's really fucking awkward? Having a massive row with someone while you're on a ten-foot by six-foot raft. Because there's really nowhere to go to avoid each other once the damage has been done. We have floated along in complete silence for the last two hours, neither of us pointing out the okapi or monkeys.

  Right now, we’re both silently watching the river otters swim beside us. Somehow the sight of them there, so content, brings a pang of pain for me, knowing I may never feel that happy again because we are one hundred percent over, just like my career and my reputation. I will never be able to live down the fact that I'm the guy who almost got a princess killed out in the jungle. I'm taking her to a hospital now where I’ll be admitting defeat.

  It doesn't matter how it happened, because I knew she had no business being out here, yet I wanted to believe she could do it. I should've gotten us out of there as fast as possible, but I didn't. And although I’m pretty sure she'll be okay based on the number of bananas she's scarfed down, I still have to get her checked by a doctor to be sure.

  Seriously, she has eaten a lot of bananas. Like enough bananas to feed an entire family of horny bonobos.

  A dock jutting out from the river’s edge tells me we’re close to Wasapi. We make our way around the next bend in the hot sun and come to a clearing in the trees. We made it. My heart sinks as I steer the raft toward the shore, knowing that in about ten minutes, my life as I know it will be over. The only consolation is that I’ll be rid of her permanently. Thank God for that. She is the very last thing I need. I suppose the other silver lining is that we figured out we’re not compatible before things went too far, so I guess there’s that to be grateful for. The raft bumps against the shore and I hop off, pulling it onto the sandy ground. Arabella makes no move to get off or to help.

  “So, Your Highness, it turns out it's much easier for me to drag the raft without also having the extra weight of an adult human aboard.”

  She turns and glares at me but says nothing.

  “Okay, I see. So now I'm your servant all of a sudden?”

  “I'm not getting off.”

  “Of course you're getting off. I got you here. This is the part where you go find a doctor so you can get checked over and I find a phone that isn’t smashed so I can call Dylan and tell her where to pick us up.”

  She shakes her head and folds her arms at me. “Nope. Not doing it.”

  “Yes. You bloody well are. Because we’re done. Completely done, in case you didn't realize it the first several times I've told you that this is over. You and I are over. The show is over. My career is over. So the only thing I have to live for at this moment is a hot shower, a big meal, copious amounts of beer, and a bed, which are all to be found in that village right there. Now get your arse off the raft before I do it for you.”

  “You're such a coward,” she says, lifting her chin.

  I bark out a nasty laugh. “I'm a coward?”

  “Yes. Sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but you are. You think you're so fucking brave out here doing manly things in the wild, but the truth is, you're just hiding from any real type of life and responsibility. You have set it up so you have the perfect excuse for never getting attached to anybody. You’re a crap brother, you’re a crap uncle, and you’d be a crap boyfriend.”

  “I'm not listening to this. Either get off the raft or don't. But I'm out of here.” I give it a good yank, then start to tie it to a tree using a vine. “I’m going to go get a drink. Do whatever the hell you want,” I say, stepping back onto the raft to grab my backpack.

  “Give me the map. I'm going to keep going,” she says def
iantly.

  “There's no fucking way I'm giving you this map. You're done. You can't survive out there even with me. We’ve got twenty-eight hours until time’s up and it’s at least a twenty-hour hike if we go fast. Do you know how hard that is, even if you’re strong and healthy? It’s really fucking hard. And in case you haven’t noticed, you are neither strong, nor healthy. It’s over. We lose.” I hop off the raft and start walking up the hill, the smell of chicken cooking pulling me ahead.

  I’m just at the top when her voice stops me. “I never figured you for a quitter. A smug prick and a coward, yes. But not a quitter.”

  I turn and let out a frustrated laugh. “Yeah, and you’re insane if you think you can hike for twenty hours, which means some of that has to be done at night. In the jungle. The mighty jungle where the lions don’t sleep at night.”

  “Lions live in the savannah.”

  “Jaguars then. And rats and snakes and crocs. They’re all wide awake all night looking for something to eat, and you may be skinny, but I’m sure none of them would mind making a meal out of you.”

  “Fine. You quit. Do what you want, but I’m not giving up.” She stands, looking strong now as she steps off the raft. She holds her hand out to me and says. “Give me the fucking map. I'm going to go take a piss, then get back across this river, and through that jungle to the finish line. If you want to go into town and cry in your beer, you be my guest. I don't give a shit what you do. But I'm going to prove that I can finish what I started.”

  “You cannot do this alone.”

  “Then I’ll gladly die trying because I refuse to be the reason that your friends lose their jobs or your brother loses his boat,” she says. “And there’s no way I’m going home with my tail tucked between my legs so everyone I know will say, ‘Yup, we were right about her. She’s so delicate she can’t even eat some berries.’” Leaning in, she tries to look menacing. “So, either get your weak arse out of my face or be a man and come with me. I don’t care what you choose, but you are giving me that map.”

  I glare down at her, my heart pounding in my chest and I don't know if I want to walk away forever or kiss her hard on the mouth. She glares back, her cute little nostrils flaring.

  Son of a bitch. I’m going to do this, aren’t I?

  27

  How to Channel Your Inner Tennis Champ…

  Arabella

  I stand perfectly still, doing my best imitation of someone who is actually brave while I wait for his answer. My heart fills with fear for both possible reactions. Because hiking through the night in the jungle is every bit as bad an option as giving up. Worse, even, because it's horribly dangerous. But the truth is, if I fail at this, I might as well give up because I’ll have to go back to my little boxed-in existence, and I know if I do, I'll die there anyway. So, I might as well die out here instead.

  I stare into his eyes—the same eyes that only yesterday gazed at me lovingly and caused my stomach to do happy little flips. But now they’re cold and hard and I hate them just like I hate the rest of him.

  And I loathe the fact that I need him to get me through this, but I do. “Look, I don't have a lot of time here, so make up your mind. Are you going to man up and do what you need to do, or quit like a little bitch?” I shrug. “I know what Bear Grylls would do, but, hey, you do you.”

  Will shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Did you really think that was going to work? You could just compare me to that phony, and I’d come along on this death march to prove I'm better than him? You really must think I'm stupid.”

  “Whatever, dude. Only one of you has your own line of camping equipment. Just sayin’.” Okay, I know I'm pushing it now, but I really do need him to come along and it's not exactly like we’re in a place in our relationship where I can appeal to his sense of sympathy. Where compassion will fail, you need to attack the ego. It's negotiations 101, taught to me by my big brother, Arthur. And now I walk away and give him time to say yes.

  I make my way into the bush, find a bit of spongy moss, then have a quick pee. That’s right, I can openly admit to having bodily functions now. Yay, me. Taking a deep breath, I strut back to the raft, head held high. Giving him an icy stare, I say, “Well? Are you coming with me or not?”

  “I’m going with you,” he says, pointing a finger at me while he scowls. “But not because I want to help you or because I give a shit about besting that goofball. It's because if I don’t, the entire world will blame me for letting you get yourself killed out there.”

  “I really couldn’t care less why you come, as long as we leave now,” I say, walking over to the tree and trying to untie the knot. It’s too tight and it won’t budge. Damn delicate fingers.

  He walks over, brushes my fingers out of the way, then unties it one-handed. What a show-off with his stupid manly hands.

  “Let’s be clear about one thing.” He leans in and lowers his tone. “Don’t go fooling yourself into thinking this is your opportunity to get back together, because whatever we had is over. Finished. Never going to happen again.”

  “Pfffft. Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't sleep with you again if all the dildos in the world suddenly disappeared.” Oh my, I’m getting good at the tough talk, no?

  He gives me a nasty grin. “Perfect. Because the only thing I want from you is to get your sorry arse over that finish line in time so I get paid.”

  “Fine by me. Just make sure you walk ahead so I don’t have to look at your smug, stupid face again.” I take a couple of steps toward the raft and crouch down in front of it.

  “Get on,” Will says. “There's no way you can push this thing into the water.”

  “Watch me,” I say, straining as hard as I can. It doesn't budge and Will chuckles, bringing out a fury in me I didn't realize I had. I grunt like Serena Williams hitting a forehand, while I give another big shove. The raft starts to move and I hop on, then catch my balance and kneel down with my hand on the rudder. “Are you coming, Wilma?”

  He scrambles down the hill, then wades into the water and manages to climb on before it’s too late. I turn my face toward the opposite shore, smiling on the inside at the fact that I've managed to shock him.

  “That was actually pretty impressive,” he says quietly.

  My ridiculous heart jumps at the thought of impressing him, but on the outside, I remain cool. “Thanks, but I'm really not looking for your approval.”

  * * *

  The sun went down two hours ago, and in that time, I've learned that hiking through the jungle at night is not only a terrible idea, it's also disgusting and terrifying. Did you know that there actually are giant rats out here? It's true. I thought Will was just trying to scare me when he mentioned them on our first day out here. But they’re real. Very freaking real, and they’re the size of a bloody house cat. Apparently, they also like to come out at night to hunt for food. As do a shit ton of bats. There are plenty of them out swooping around.

  We’re both wearing the headlamps, which carry with them the unfortunate side effect of attracting swarms of moths. So, since it got dark, I'm swatting behemoth moths as they try to land on my face while I simultaneously duck from the bats and watch for rats.

  Oh, wow! That last moth was easily the size of a not-so-small bird. “Motherfucker,” I mutter, flinching and flailing my arms to hold them back. “Just fuck off already. That’s my headlamp.”

  Will is moving fast through the forest, slicing a path for us with his machete while I try to keep up. I'm panting so hard, my lungs ache. I feel weak and thirsty and exhausted, and to be honest, I just want to lay down right here and sleep for a couple of days. We've been walking for ten hours now with only two short breaks to eat, drink water, and rest—both of which have been done in a silent but simmering rage.

  I haven’t checked yet, but I already know my ankles are cut again and each step feels like someone’s rubbing sandpaper against an open wound. But I won't stop. I can't. I force my feet to keep going, focusing on the lifetime of respe
ct I'm earning one meter at a time. An owl hoots in a tree nearby and I flinch, my heart racing even faster.

  Will is far ahead now, hurrying along like he can’t get away from me fast enough, which is fine by me. We come to the bottom of another steep hill. God, no. No more hills, please. Unless they’re down.

  Of course, he scrambles up it quickly and with ease, and even though I want to slump down onto the ground and have a cry, I force myself to catch up. He stops at the top, shining his light down while I climb. He reaches a hand down to help me, but I don't take it.

  “Suit yourself, Your Highness.”

  “I intend to,” I quip.

  “Let's take a break for a few minutes. I'll get us some water and you check your feet for blisters. We’re also going to need to make torches because these headlamps won’t last much longer.”

  “I'll get my own water.” I grab the machete from him and walk over to a stand of bamboo, then with one clean slice, I hack a piece down and hold it sideways, tipping it back into my mouth. I wait, but nothing comes out. Shit. Like I need this right now with him here watching all arrogant and survivory.

  I feel his hand on mine and for a brief second, I think he's going to try to apologize, but instead he just slides the machete out of my palm. He slices another shoot and holds it above his head, then drinks for a long time. When it’s empty, he tosses it into the woods and makes a satisfied ‘aaaahhhh’ sound. “Much better. Finding the right shoot is a bit of an art. You sure you don’t want some help?”

  “No, thanks. I'd rather die from dehydration than take anything from you.”

  He slices another one and hands it to me. “Don't think of it as me doing you a favor. The only reason I'm giving you this is so that I don't wind up carrying you across the finish line.”